Whitecaps
by Mason Frey
Summary: Fresh take on what season 8 could have been.
1. Out of Africa

**The door of Luke's Diner swung open quickly, crashing against a table, and dislodging the bells atop it. The silver bells fell like rain, and shattered, announcing Lorelai's presence with such an energetic crash, it was almost impossible to ignore. Her face folded like origami paper, and she knelt immediately to the entangled, steel mess on the floor. Luke jumped from the back room, laden in plaid and denim, stubble coating his cheeks. His blue baseball cap was twisted backwards, and Lorelai felt dependent in his appearance. She could dock her years salary on it. His chocolaty eyes peered up at her, as she casually picked up the scraps. "Luke, I am so sorry. I broke your bells." Her eyes were as desolate as if she'd told him of some death, or true tradgedy.**

**"It's fine. Rachel made me buy them, 'cause she thought they were festive, but I always found them pesky, sort of like a cow bell for customers. I am not really ... festive." Luke glanced up into Lorelai's eyes. They truly were the size of the moon, with a pure, turquiose serenity like a peaceful ocean. He got lost them, swimming through them, and this tranquil acceptance washed over him. He spat on existentialism, personality recycling, epiphanies, but this sense of self was so undeniable. "Do you want to come upstairs?" He asked quietly. She nodded, a tentative smile painting itself on her face.**

**They walked up the stairs in silence, but it wasn't awkward. They say when you drown, the first 60 seconds, terrible desperation, and then a natural high warms you, and welcomes you into unconsciousness. Despite the situation, the ease, the happiness, it was so natural. Luke opened the door, and Lorelai stepped in. Even after the expansion it was still too small. A dusty, cozyness consumed it like flames would. She could see herself here, how it used to be. Her rolling around in his flannel sheets, the TV he set up just for her. "So, how are you?" Luke asked, tucking his leathery hands into his pockets. **

**"Fine. Rory is off to India or whatever." Lorelai said, peering around as if she might never be there again. She knew she would. She knew Luke would always be around.**

**"Rory is in India?" Luke sighed, overwhelmed. Little Rory is international.**

**"No. Iowa." Lorelai laughed, and Luke's smile warmed the room. The climate shifted, and Luke walked to Lorelai slowly.**

**"Lorelai, I'm here. I'm always here." His teeth gleamed with the sun, like a picket fence on a summer day.**

**"I know you are." She said. There was nothing more to say, and Luke wrapped his arms around Lorelai, and for once, for the first time in so long, she felt safe.**

**The conversation had continued, tossed around ideas, remixed their situation and put it on a mix tape, until finally Lorelai kissed Luke lightly and slipped away into the night. The stars appeared like little holes in the glazed, navy sky, as she stomped off home. She smiled and waved at Miss Patty, and Kirk, who was wearing a t-shirt that read: 'I am not a hologram', but she didn't care. She was just going somewhere, and that's what mattered.**

**When she got home, she fell directly into bed, her hair spreading out over her pillow like octopus tentacles. Her mind toppled over itself, crashing onto the same conclusion: she was happy with Luke, and wanted to remain with him. He had finally changed. He had apologized and explained himself like a criminal in interrogation in the hay bale maze, and the obstacle that forever stood between them had been removed. April had finally found her place in Luke's world, and Lorelai's post remained open.**

**A quiet but audible knocking echoed in Lorelai's home, and she jolted upright. Could it be Luke? Too cliche. He's to bed at eight, no doubt about it. She tiptoed silently down the stairs. "Who's there?" She shouted, but got no response. She armed herself with an umbrella, and cranked the door open.**

**"Are you ready for our rollercoaster trip, Mom?" Rory asked, her luggage piled behind her on the patio.**


	2. Stop, Drop, Roll

"_Rory_?" Lorelai spat inquisitively. It took a minute or two to register that Rory was actually home. It wasn't the lateness of the hour that brought up confusion, Lorelai was awake as ever, it was the situation. "What are you doing here?" A certain chaotic quality washed over her words like a poured glass of water.

"I didn't get on the bus." Rory admitted quietly. Failure wasn't something she was used to, especially when it was all up to her. Her voice was artificially sweetened with one tablespoon regret, two cups shame. "It was the best thing I could've done for my career as a journalist, and now, I am going to carry sandwiches around Bobo's News and Stuff, talking about the opportunity that slipped through my fingers back in the good, ol' days." Rory shoved her sweaty hands onto her forehead, like if she didn't, her head might just roll off her neck, and bound down the stairs.

"You won't work at Bobo's News and Stuff, honey. They don't accept people under twenty-five." Lorelai gently, supportively knocked Rory's arm. Rory sighed. Her eyes were on fire.

"This isn't funny. In one spontaneous aberration, I managed to dismantle my entire future!" Rory said, throwing her fists from her head, across to the door frame. Lorelai had never seen Rory this frantic. It was like someone had taken a needle and injected her with panic, rage, and fear.

"Come inside. Why didn't you get on the bus?" Lorelai brought Rory into the house, shutting the door behind her, and bringing her onto their lumpy, off-white couch.

"I guess … I mean, I was standing there, and I was just completely frozen. I couldn't even move. I just stood there, and then my bus rolled up, and people - oh, you should've seen the people, reeking of tobacco and stale B.O. - and they got on, and then the bus driver said _on or off, honey, _in this terrible accent, and I couldn't answer. I couldn't even answer." Rory said, all in one breath, coming out in this mess, like a boy carrying his science project, and stumbling over a stone, crashing into his pride. Lorelai squeezed and squeezed Rory for another hour or so, a fruit made of rock, but Rory never relented more than regurgitating the story she spat at Lorelai first. Lorelai was nervous. She had never seen Rory more rattled. Could something more than nerves happened?

"Do you have ingredients to make caramel rolls?" Rory asked, slapping a bug on her knee.

"That took a turn." Lorelai chirped.

"Mia used to make them. I asked her for the recipe when we went to her wedding." Rory began digging through her purse, finally finding a note card. Lorelai spotted Mia's signature calligraphy, smooth and flawless: Mia's Caramel Rolls.

"Is this really the time for caramel rolls, sweetie?" Lorelai suggested under her breath. Rory was surprisingly determined, as if by making these caramel rolls, she could systematically undo her mistake. Rory immediately departed for Cub Foods in Woodbridge, and Lorelai's pent-up exhaustion crashed on to her like a blanket of snow, and she heavy-mindedly slipped up to bed.

At about two-thirty in the morning, Lorelai crashed out of bed to an unknown sound. Her first guess was an animal of some kind. Maybe the raccoon got in again. She tiptoed down the stairs, and peered around. Rory was in the kitchen, kneading a slab of dough, rolling it over itself repeatedly, consuming its insides, becoming its outsides. Rory quietly cried as she manipulated the dough, her tears dripping onto the dough, lubricating her actions. Sobbing. There was no animal. Lorelai thought for a moment, before retreating back upstairs.

She woke up to one of the most heavenly scents she had ever smelled.


End file.
